Wafer-Thin

Wearing a straitjacket 
you come out in open. 
This was a black day. 
You were not invited. 

The economy smells of stale fever. 

A pungent smoke rises 
from the joints. 

A decision drifts. Scare of 
paper bomb stills― 
the flow of tea. 

There was a party. 
People come and go. Skullcaps 
galore. White on brown sugar. 

There is no love lost between us.